


Exceptionally Soft

by indefensibleselfindulgence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crying, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 23:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15520608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indefensibleselfindulgence/pseuds/indefensibleselfindulgence
Summary: Crying in a bathroom alone is really no fun at all.Set immediately after 106 (A Matter of Perspective)





	Exceptionally Soft

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd

  
Melanie King doesn't cry.  
  
Really, she doesn't. Not even out of stress or humiliation, and weird shit knowing, shes faced more than her fair share of that in her life already. She didn't cry when her mother died, and she didn't cry when her father died even though it stung more than anything in the entire world. She could hold herself together.  
  
It wasn't a _t_ _hing_. Her eyes were fine, and she didn't have an empathy disorder of any kind, (she would know, she was tested) but no matter how hard her old job got, how funny a joke was or how much a movie made her jump, the tears never came.  
  
She probably did when she was younger. That's what children do. Cry a lot. Actually, she knows she did. There's an old VHS tape she used to trot out for her father before the dementia got too bad of her playing in the park with him. Her mom had gotten the camera out right as Melanie fell off of a swing set. Torn her knee to shit and cried for an hour straight. Her dad had taken her to ice cream after they cleaned it up as best they could in a park before taking her to the hospital.  
  
She always thought her dad had his priorities in order.  
  
She's been in hysterics for the past half hour. Melanie barely made it out of Elias's office before breaking down entirely and locking herself in the closest bathroom she could find after checking it was empty.  
  
She barely wears any makeup, but it's streaking down her face anyway. Her hair is a mess from grabbing at it and trying to get it out of her eyes. Her clothes look disheveled from clinging to herself. Her skin is blotchy, and her nose is runny, and her throat is raw.  
  
She tries to keep the wailing down, but sometimes she can't control herself, and she screams, white-knuckled on the countertop, eyes too glazed over to see herself in the mirror.  
  
The worst part is probably the fact that every now and again it gets so bad that she can't breathe and shes left to hyperventilate until it ebbs away for a few brief minutes.  
  
Somewhere between the crying and the panic attacks, (she thinks that's what this is, maybe), the thought of Elias somehow watching her crosses her mind and it makes her sick enough that she rushes into one of the stalls to vomit.  
  
Melanie can't remember where or when but she had read somewhere that crying was therapeutic. How can this possibly make anyone feel better?  
  
She's exhausted. Sore. Her head feels like it's cracked upon down the middle and every time she closes her eyes the sensation of heat and fear and loneliness envelopes her and she starts all over again. Her hands can't stop shaking, all of her can't stop shaking.  
  
She's never felt this spectacularly worthless before. Every movement feels heavy, and every breath feels undeserved.  
  
This is the worst shes felt in her entire life.  
  
And yes she's counting the time she got shot. That was just physical pain, physical pain feels like a walk in the park right now. She'd skin her knees bloody a hundred million times, take a billion bullets, even tear her arm off if she had to, just to make this stop.  
  
There's a knock on the door and Melanie breathes in so sharply it sends her into another coughing fit. If she hadn't vomited before, she sure would have now.  
  
“Melanie?” Basira's calm, soft voice can barely carry through the door. “You alright?”  
  
“Yeah-” It would be so much more convincing if her voice didn't crack half way through the word. “Fine. Stomach- is all.”  
  
There's nothing, and then Basira must try for the door. The handle rattles a bit before it stills and there's knock.  
  
“Sure?” No, very not sure. Not even slightly sure. Absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, unsure.  
  
Something about Basira coming to check on her sends more tears spilling, and she doesn't know what to do.  
  
“No.” Her voice is so raspy. What was she expecting, honestly? Another moment of silence. Did Basira leave? Some tiny part of her is relieved, and another part of her hurts even more.  
  
“Melanie, I want to help.” Her voice sounds so nice. “I can leave if you like, that's fine, but I would like to if you'd let me.”  
  
Melanie nods her head before realizing that she's alone in the room and very slowly walking to the door to open it.  
  
“Hi.” She feels tiny. Some part of her wants to turn around, sprint past her, keep the embarrassment a secret, but the rest of her is too tired to move. Basira, to her credit, takes one look at her and locks the door shut behind her.  
  
“What happened, Melanie?”  
  
“I-” She pushed too hard, that's what happened. Should have learned her place and let it go and be happy that she had a paying job at all. “I didn't mean to-” She sobs instead of whatever she was going to say.  
  
“Hey, hey-” Basira walks over to her slowly, like she's a wounded animal that's going to run at any given second. “It's alright. Can I touch you, Melanie?”  
  
“I-” She can't talk, obviously. Every time she opens her mouth its quite pathetic whimpering. She nods because what else can she do?  
  
“I've got you, alright? I've got you.” And then Basira hugs her tightly, a hand on the base of her neck guiding Melanie into Basira's shoulder. She tries to shake her head and mumble something about how she'll just get Basira's very lovely clean clothes dirty, but Basira either doesn't hear or ignores her outright, pulling her in tighter.  
  
The hug is warm, and soft, and supportive and it's enough for another wave of tears and gasps, and she's definitely getting snot on her shirt. Great. Fucking fantastic. Not only is she being worthless, she's actively degrading the people around her.  
  
“Want to tell me what's going on, Melanie?” Basira rubs her back gently, and Melanie can't do anything other than cling to her coworker. “That's alright, you'll cry yourself out at some point, and when you're ready, I'm right here. Or even if you don't want to talk, that's still okay. But I'm right here. I'm right here, and solid, and I've got you, alright?”  
  
Melanie can't tell if it's police sensitivity training or if Basira is just this good of a person.  
  
“Elias-” She mumbles out when another tiny patch of calm presents itself. “He- My dad- He- I-”  
  
“I figured.” Basira doesn't let go of her even a little bit. “What else could shake you, right?” Melanie would nod and joke and laugh under any other circumstance. Now she feels like a child.  
  
“I think-” She can't form her thoughts right and it takes her a while. Basira's patient., waits for her quietly, nodding in encouragement. It spills out of her all at once, and she forgets to breathe, choking by the end of it. “I think he- he knew things Basira and I don't know how he knew them, but he made me know them too, and I don't know what to do, and I think he killed my dad maybe I don't know Basira, but I can't stop crying, and I can't breathe and-”  
  
“Okay, hey, okay- good, you're doing very good right now Melanie, but I need to count with me okay? Take a deep breath, as deep as you can right now and count out loud with me to ten, come on, you can do this, yeah? Count with me.”  
  
“O-one, two- two-” Melanie gets to four before she starts coughing. It feels like her throat is in ribbons.  
  
“You did great. You're doing so good right now, okay, but try again, please? Just to ten, okay, come on.”  Six this time, accompanied by sobs and when she hits the number, she shakes her head and rasps out that she can't before Basira shushes her. “Yes, you can. It's just numbers, Melanie, you absolutely can. It's okay if it takes you a few more tries but you can, I know you can.”  
  
“I can't-”  
  
“Yes, you can.” Basira is solid, her voice unwavering. “Yes, you can.” Despite herself, Melanie nods. “That-a-girl. You're doing fantastic, come on. All the way to ten this time.”  
  
It takes a minute maybe, of her rushing through numbers only to choke on one and start all over again. Through the entire experience, Basira urges her along, rubs her back and holds her like she's a weepy kid.  
  
“Ten-”  
  
“There you go. Come on.” She urges her to the sinks slowly. “Here you go. I'm going to touch your face, okay? It's me, so there's nothing to worry about.” Melanie hears the sink turn on, and lukewarm water gets splashed in her face.  
  
Basira covers her face in water before pulling out a paper towel and cleaning her off, trying to get the streaky foundation and gloss off of her face. It doesn't feel that nice.  
  
“Can you keep talking?” She whispers.  
  
“Of course I can.” She rubs her shoulders. “Turn back to the sink. The water's going to be colder this time, but that's only to shock your system a little. And it'll feel better. Refreshing. Actually- want to try and do it yourself? You can probably reach better then I can.” Melanie cups her hands and washes her face with cold water, and surprisingly it does make her face feel less hot and swollen. Or maybe unsurprisingly, considering Basira is obviously an expert.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“Mmhm. Anytime. Want to try and talk about it-”  
  
“I would – no.”  
  
“That's okay too.” She rubs Melanie's shoulder and now that Melanie can see anything she notices the massive stain on Basira's shoulder.  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
“Don't be, Elias is a monster, and it happens to the best of us.”  
  
“About- About the shirt.”  
  
“What?” Basira looks down and waves a hand. “Don't worry about it. I've got a spare in the car. You feeling a little better?”  
  
Is she? If hard pressed, she could say that she feels less like shes made out of thin spun glass.  
  
“I guess.”  
  
“Good enough for the drink? Martin canceled on us if that changes anything.”  
  
“I don't really want to drink. Right now. I think- Honestly, I think I should go home. He gave me the day off anyway.”  
  
“Right- well.” Basira wets another paper towel and dabs at the stain on her shirt. At least Melanie didn't ruin her headscarf or her makeup. She couldn't look her in the face if she had. “I don't think I should leave you alone if you don't mind.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“No offense meant, of course, but you're a mess, and I don't know if I can trust you to even get home on your own.” Any other time she'd be getting indignant, but now?  
  
“You don't have to.” Basira looks at her through the mirror and smiles.

"I know."  
  
It's exceptionally soft.

**Author's Note:**

> comments always encouraged and very very very appreciated
> 
> come [yell at me](http://iamalivenow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> i've been writing a lot of angst and a lot of edge so heres not either of those two things because i'm sad


End file.
